


La Patisserie de la Rose

by Yaoi_Is_My_Religion



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Complete, English, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:55:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24417742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yaoi_Is_My_Religion/pseuds/Yaoi_Is_My_Religion
Summary: AU. Accountant Matthew Williams is used to being unnoticed, ignored, and forgotten. That is until pastry chef Francis Bonnefoy appears like a burst of colour in his dull, grey life....THIS IS NOT MINE, THIS IS THE WORK OF GEORGE DEVALIER, WHOM HAS DELETED HIS ORIGINAL ACC. ON FANFICTION.NET. I AM SIMPLY JUST REPOSTING HIS WORKS IN HERE....THIS BOOK IS STILL UNDER EDITING
Relationships: Canada/France (Hetalia)
Kudos: 7





	1. Venus et Éclair

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS NOT MINE, THIS IS THE WORK OF GEORGE DEVALIER, WHOM HAS DELETED HIS ORIGINAL ACC. ON FANFICTION.NET. I AM SIMPLY JUST REPOSTING HIS WORKS IN HERE.

It was a dull, grey morning as Matthew walked briskly down the dull, grey street. It was the ninth morning he had walked to work down this very street, every one the same, every one dull and grey. Matthew was used to being passed over and unnoticed, but in this new, huge city, he felt completely invisible. This place was too large and unfriendly: hundreds of people hurrying past with their eyes o the ground, practically identical in their grey suits with their grey expressions. Grey buildings lined both sides of the street; grey shops and businesses all blended together. And it seemed that every day the sky overhead was dark with the promise of rain. Matthew clenched his hand around his briefcase, clenched his teeth as the teeming crowd pushed past him unseeing. At least his little apartment was not far from his large office block, so this dull, grey, every-morning walk did not take long.

It was a good opportunity, they had said. A promotion to a new position in the big city. And Matthew had never been good at confrontation, so he had simply said thank you, packed up his dull little life, and moved across the country to become another number cruncher lost in a faceless company. He had been here two weeks now, but no one in his office even knew his name yet. He was pretty sure no one even knew what he did.

Matthew suddenly had to dodge out of the way of a man not watching where he was going. Just as he fell against a shop wall to avoid a head-on collision, it began raining heavily. Matthew groaned to himself. This day was starting even better than usual.

Matthew put his briefcase over his head and began to look for cover. His eyes darted along the street, looking for an awning or a ledge or any kind of shelter from the pelting rain. And then, like a burst of colour exploding into this grey morning, his gaze fell on the most colourful little shop window he had never seen. He took a few steps closer, fascinated. Variously shaped coloured cakes and pastries sat arranged like an art exhibit on a white-clothed tables and silver tiers: little fruit tarts, pies topped with berries, plates of red and pink iced biscuits, white dusted muffins, cupcakes of every colour of the rainbow. Matthew almost forgot the rain as he stared at the visual feast, his mouth starting to water, his eyes drinking in the explosion of colour. But he quickly began to shiver, realised the rain was soaking through his clothes, and darted into the shop.

A cheerful little bell announced his arrival as the warmth of the place engulfed Matthew immediately. Inside, the burst of colour was even more intense, along with the sweet, delightful scent of melted chocolate and baking bread. The nostalgic sound of Edith Piaf's unmistakable voice flowed softly through the shop; elegantly framed black and white photographs of Parisian landmarks decorated the walls. A glass counter ran across the back of the room, separating the front of the small shop - the word 'cosy' sprang to mind - from a little serving area behind. Matthew felt strangely comfortable in here; oddly at ease as he looked around at the side shelves of even more exquisitely lovely sweets and pastries. He had already eaten breakfast - pancakes with maple syrup and a café latte at 7am sharp, the same as every morning - but he felt suddenly famished.

" _Bonjour, monsieur!_ " Matthew looked up at the voice. The man behind the counter blinked as Matthew turned his eyes widened, and he looked Matthew up and down. "Well, _bonjour!_ " he said again, emphasising the second part of the word, then leant forward on the counter and smiled brightly. He had wavy blond shoulder-length hair and slight facial stubble on his handsome face, and was dressed in jeans and a flour-dusted apron. And there was something about the way he smiled, the way he leant easily on the counter, the way his dancing blue eyes ran across Matthew's body - Matthew felt himself blushed red, without really knowing why.

" _Bonjour,_ " Matthew responded, somewhat hesitantly.

"Can I give you a... _hand,_ by any chance?" Matthew had to pause and wonder whether the blond baker had actually meant it to sound like that. The man winked and Matthew's eyebrows shot up. Oh. He had.

"No, thank you. It's just..." Matthew looked down at himself, his suit dripping rain onto the floor. He was creating puddles all over the shop. "Well, it started raining, and I didn't want to get wet, but... well, it looks like I have anyway, doesn't it. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to drench your floor. I'll just go."

"No!" The man said it so sincerely that Matthew stopped immediately. "No, please," the man continued, softer. "Stay there one moment."

Matthew waited, a little unsure, as the baker disappeared out the back door. He appeared a moment later with a white, fluffy towel in his hands, then walked through a gap in the counter by the wall and handed the towel to Matthew. Matthew smiled carefully as he took it.

"Thank you," said Matthew as he placed his briefcase down and dried his hair, feeling a little awkward at using this stranger's towel. Now that he was so close, Matthew could see that the baker stood at an equal height to his own, those dancing blue eyes still travelling up and down. He smelt like caramel and spun sugar. And why did he keep looking at him like that? Like he was almost amused, his eyebrows raised and his lips curled upwards.

"But not at all. You are on your way to work?" The man's voice was heavily accented. He could possibly be from Quebec, but something about hims seemed undeniably French.

"Yes," replied Matthew. "Or I was, before the rain caught me."

The man tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Let me guess. the suit tells me... investment banker?"

Matthew exhaled sharply in amusement. "Close. Accountant."

The man wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Oh, I do apologise." Matthew rolled his eyes and tried not to laugh. "But please, forgive my rudeness. My name is Francis. Welcome to _La Patisserie de la Rose!_ " Francis held his hand out and Matthew took it in a firm handshake. Francis' hands were smooth with flour.

"Thank you. I'm Matthew." Matthew quickly found himself fascinated by those dancing blue eyes. Just what was going on here? This man certainly seemed interested in him. But then maybe he introduced himself to all his customers like this. "Your patisserie is... well, it's amazing. Do you make all these yourself?"

Francis nodded slightly, his expression pleased and proud. "Every one, my dear. I am an _artiste,_ and these are my humble creations."

"They're incredible," said Matthew honestly, his eyes falling on a fully formed and intricately decorated gingerbread house, complete with marshmallow windows and liquorice latticework and even a chocolate chimney. "I can't believe I've never noticed this place before, and I walk past every day. Of course, I've only been in town two weeks." He realised too late that Francis had called him 'my dear' and felt just a little awkward again. But then, Francis seemed like the type of man who could get away with using endearments like that with virtual strangers. Or the type of man who simply didn't care.

"Twi weeks, hmmm? That makes sense. If you had been in before, I surely would have remembered."

No, he definitely seemed interested. Matthew had to wonder at the statement. He was not the type of person people remembered. He was not the type of person who was flirted with by complete strangers, either. Beneath the awkwardness and slight confusion, Matthew was also starting to feel strangely flattered.

"So exactly where on earth did you drop in from?" continued Francis easily.

"Just a little town up north. you wouldn't have heard of it... no one has. I must admit, I'm not used to a city this big."

"This is nothing to _Paris,_ my dear." Francis pronounced it the French way, and Matthew nodded to himself. French - of course.

"Paris? I wondered about the accent."

Francis sighed dramatically. " _Oui, Paris,_ the city of my heart, and where I perfected my trade."

Matthew looked over a little table display of exquisite embellished red velvet cupcakes, then back at Francis with a tiny uncertain smile. "you are very talented." Matthew wasn't sure if he was flirting back, and wasn't sure f he wanted to. It was definitely not something he was used to.

"You are too kind to say so. But my artwork is not just for looking, Mathieu. Tell me." Francis blue eyes twinkled playfully. "How can I tempt you this morning?"

Matthew tightened his grip on the towel. How did Francis make those innocent words sound so - well - un-innocent? Matthew swallowed and stammered. He had quickly reached the limits of his flirting ability. "Uh... well, I don't really know..."

Francis smirked and beckoned him with a finger before walking back to the counter. Matthew follower, slightly dazed, his eyes travelling downwards of their own accord. The way Francis walked - the phrase 'sex on legs' immediately entered Matthew's mind, and he mentally slapped himself for thinking something so ridiculous. He placed the towel down on a stool by the counter. Matthew studied them closely. Perfectly smooth, round, white meringues topped with little red berry tips. Matthew gasped when he realised what they were. "Oh!"

"My own version of the famous Nipple of Venus," said Francis, grinning wickedly. "Or, if you prefer, I have these..." Francis reached again into the cabinet, bringing out another tray of unusually shaped desserts, and laid them beside the meringues with a flourish. Matthew recognised immediately what these were. The miniature log éclairs had two little chocolate orbs attacked at one end, and a darkened little sculpted end at the other.

''Oh!" said Matthew again, feeling his cheeks burn bright red. He had to stop himself putting a hand to his mouth, determined not to look like some sort of blushing schoolgirl. What sort of man made pastries like these? He forced himself to look directly at Francis. "Please tell me they're not cream-filled."

Francis laughed lightly, then gestured dramatically over the two trays. "So, Mathieu. Which do you prefer?"

Matthew's eyes went wide and his mouth almost fell open. Surely, he couldn't be asking... Francis winked. Oh. He was asking. The room felt suddenly very hot, despite Matthew's wet clothes. Well. this was one way to ask a sensitive question... Matthew took a deep breath, told himself to man up, and very deliberately reached out and picked up one of the little éclairs. Francis' grin widened. He looked positively thrilled. Matthew suddenly did not know what to do with his hands, with his eyes. Francis looked pointedly at the éclair in Matthew's had and inclined his head slightly.

"Please. Tell me what you think."

And now came the dilemma of actually eating a pastry shaped like a penis in front of a man he'd just met. Matthew wasn't quite sure if there was a correct manner to do such a thing. But he certainly wasn't about to back down now, so he just met Francis' gaze evenly, and placed the éclair in his mouth. And then he forgot to feel awkward, or embarrassed, or any of it. Because this was the most amazing thing he had ever tasted. the hard chocolate layer cracked between his teeth and gave way to a silky, white chocolate centre that melted on his tongue. The contrast of textures played on his cream, the lingering lightness of sugar-dusted pastry. Matthew couldn't stop his eyes fluttering closed, the final taste like an explosion on his taste buds, and he swallowed almost regretfully. His fingers lingered on his mouth and he drew his bottom lip between his teeth, took a deep breath and sighed. "Oh, wow."

Francis laughed breathily and Matthew's eyes flew open. "Was it good for you?" asked Francis, his eyes slightly lowered, his cheeks just the tiniest bit darker.

"Wow," said Matthew again, unthinkingly. He had never tasted anything like that in his life. "That was the most incredible thing I've ever had in my mouth."

Francis looked quite self-satisfied. "I hear that a lot."

Matthew dropped his hand and laughed shakily. What a completely embarrassing, new, strange, amazing situation. "Uh,I mean... I'll take a dozen."

Francis shook his head and folded his arms. "No."

Matthew blinked his wide eyes, taken aback. "No?"

"No. I could not stand to have you make such a display without me there to watch. It would be a betrayal, darling." Matthew raised an eyebrow. Darling, now? "If you want more..." Francis' expression twisted deviously, "You'll just have to come back." Matthew wasn't sure whether to feel flattered or just really annoyed. He glanced back down at the plate of pastries, but Francis took it away and placed it back under the glass. "Uh-uh. I think I shall allow you... one a day, yes?"

"You can't do that!" said Matthew indignantly.

Francis smirked. "Oh, but I can, dear Mathieu. After all, I need some assurance that you will return to me, don't I?"

Despite his annoyance, Matthew felt a warm glow in his chest. Francis must really be interested in him to go to such elaborate lengths to see him again. Matthew studied the baker closely: his alluring smile and teasing expression, the seductive way he leant against the counter and gazed with heavy lidded eyes. Matthew realised that he wanted to see Francis again, too. He had never met anyone so brazen, so... intriguing. Matthew sighed and rolled his eyes in surrender. Francis grinned in triumph. "Fine. But it's terrible customer service. What do I owe you?" Francis frowned, and Matthew knew immediately he had said the wrong thing. He began to stammer an apology, but Francis just shook his head and clicked his tongue.

"Ever the accountant, no? Please, Mathieu." Francis placed a hand to his chest. "All I require in payment is the great pleasure of your company."

At the mention of his work, Matthew suddenly gasped. oh, he had gotten so carried away... "Oh, no! I'm going to be late!"

"And such perfect timing. It has stopped raining."

Matthew jumped up and rushed for his briefcase. He looked out the window at the clearing skies and saw that Francis was right. "I'm so sorry, I have to dash! Oh no, and I've already been late twice this week... Um, thank you, Francis, and it was nice to meet you, and..." He turned back to see Francis resting his chin on his hand, smiling at him softly. Matthew immediately forgot the rest of his panicked rant.

"Tomorrow, yes? until then." Francis waved his fingers lightly. " _Au revoir, mon cher._ "

Matthew bit his lip, then smiled across the charming, bright little shop at the bold, captivating French baker. "Yes," he replied, nodding. "Tomorrow."

Matthew stepped out of the patisserie and, before taking off again down the street, glanced back at the door he had just walked out of. There was an intricate red rose carved into the wood. The entire patisserie was more like something from an enchanting little Parisian alley than this grey, industrial street where all the buildings looked the same and no one looked you in the eye. And yet, now the dull, grey world seemed just a little bit brighter. Matthew spent the rest of the day thinking of Francis, of visiting the little patisserie again tomorrow. And Matthew realised, that for the first time in weeks, he was actually looking forward to something.


	2. Syrup und Sachertorte

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER UNDER EDITING!!!

"And this one is mad with the very best dark Swiss chocolate, blended with vanilla and the slightest hint of chili, then melded to perfection within my own trademark cinnamon-spiced choux pastry."

Matthew's eyes closed just briefly as he tested the next bite-sized delicacy from the tray laid before him. The lovely accountant sat on a tall stool opposite Francis at the counter, his tie undone and his briefcase forgotten beside him. Francis could only smile in delight, almost letting a small sigh escape his lips. He could watch Matthew taste his delectable creations all day. At this stage, he was intending to do just that. For almost a week now Matthew had been coming to his patisserie every morning, brightening Francis' day just as it began, giving him something to look forward to every night. Francis had asked Matthew about his work at first, but it quickly became obvious that the accountant did not wish to speak of it. So instead they spoke of their homes, of music and art, of food and sport and travel. And the more Francis found out, the more he realised he wanted to know. Of course, he was ridiculously attracted to Matthew. How could he not be - he was gorgeous, and his hair was fabulous. But Francis also wanted to talk to him, hear how he was, hear how he thought... he did not just want to sleep with him. He wanted to do that too, of course, so badly it was painful. Which really made him wonder why he hadn't even broached the subject yet. After all, it had been a week - anyone else and Francis would have slept with them and forgotten them by now. It struck Francis that this was the longest relationship he had ever been in, and it was not even a relationship.

It was now Friday afternoon and to Francis' utter joy, Matthew had stopped in on his way from work. The smell of baking bread wafted from the kitchen, the voice of the divine Miss Piaf flowed from the speakers, and the golden afternoon seemed to stretch on forever. A few costumers came and went, but Francis' entire focus was on the charming young man before him.

"Oh," said Matthew after swallowing the chocolate pastry. He laughed softly, shaking his head in amazement. "How do you do this, Francis? Just when I think I have tasted the most delicious thing ever created, you present me with something even better!"

Francis knew he was the best pastry chef to ever come out of Paris, but hearing these compliments from Matthew somehow meant more than the thousands he had received before. He shrugged modestly and gave Matthew a tiny, teasing smile. "My dear, it is my goal in life to keep surprising you."

Matthew smirked, gazing up through, lowered lashes. "A goal I believe you will have no trouble accomplishing."

Francis felt his heart thump a few swift, heavy beats in his chest. He was never quite certain if Matthew meant to be seductive when he spoke like that, when he looked at him like that; but the mystery just made him even more appealing. Francis hadn't had this much fun flirting in years. "I am flattered by your faith in me."

"Well honestly, Francis," Matthew continued, sitting straighter and brushing the sugar lightly from his hands. "You're a magician!"

Francis placed a hand to his chest and gave a tiny bow. "And you are too charmingly kind."

"What I really want to know is how you are not the size of a house!" Matthew looked down at himself critically. "One week visiting your patisserie and I am certain I have gained ten pounds."

Francis scoffed. The man could sell gym memberships. Wide shoulders, narrow waist, slender with what looked like the perfect amount of muscle beneath that suit... Francis let his eyes wander. "Nonsense, you are flawless. And it is all about moderation, no? Besides, I like a man with a little... softness to him."

Matthew reddened, but laughed at the same time. "Well, uh, I suppose that's a good thing. Much more of this and I'll turn into a pastry myself."

Francis grinned delightedly. "Then I would have to eat you, darling." Matthew really did walk into these things, sometimes. "And I am sure you would be delicious." Matthew rolled his eyes mockingly, but his cheeks were still that delicious shade of red. A hot, wild flutter pulsed through Francis' veins. Time to see just how far he could push. "I have been working on something special today." Francis spoke slyly, leaning forward across the counter.

"Oh?" asked Matthew interestedly, his blue eyes bright and intrigued behind his charming wire glasses.

"These," Francis gestured over a row of miniature crepes on the tray before him, "Are made with a very special secret ingredient."

Matthew glanced down then up with slightly narrowed eyes and parted lips. "Do tell me more, _monsieur._ "

Francis leant closer to Matthew and lowered his voice. "A great chef never gives away his secrets."

Matthew leant in also, until their noses almost touched and Francis could smell his hair. "What if I promise to never tell a soul?" he whispered.

Francis had to bite back a groan of desire. He was used to this feeling of intrigued and attraction. What he was not used to was this overwhelming swelling in his chest when Matthew smiled, this intense wave of heat that spread through him when Matthew blinked slowly. Francis clenched his hand, digging his nails into his palm. "Well," he said, forcing himself to smile smoothly, "If it's a promise..."

Matthew raised a hand in a oath-taking gesture. "Scout's honour."

Francis pulled back sharply and gasped in horror. "Please tell me you weren't a boy scout, darling."

Matthew gazed back at his evenly, impassive and serious. "Of course I was. That is where I acquired my impressive knowledge of knot tying. And where I learnt never to take candy from strangers."

Francis raised an eyebrow deviously. "Knots, hmm? And..." He pointedly down at the tray of pastries. "Candy?"

Matthew's lip twitched upwards ever so subtly. "I never said I was a _good_ scout."

Francis suddenly felt too hot for this cold autumn day - he had the immediate urge to fan himself. He chuckled softly. "Well, now I _really_ don't know if I can trust you with my secrets."

Matthew waved a hand. "I swear to you, I'm a vault. Your naughty little secrets are safe with me, Francis." Then he winked, and Francis nearly bit his tongue in half. Oh, this was too much. The way Matthew blushed just slightly at Francis' bold flirtations, but never backed down or looked away. The way he knew just how to respond to keep Francis intrigued and on his toes. Matthew still had a straightforward sort of innocence about him, but he was no bashful submissive. Francis was finding Matthew's unique blend of sweet and snark intoxicating.

Francis sighed dramatically and spread his hands in defeat. "Very well, you win." He reached down slowly, picked up one of the miniature rolled crepes, then lifted it delicately. Matthew's eyes followed his fingers the entire time. Francis smirked. "Maple syrup, my darling."

Matthew's mouth fell open and his wide blue eyes shot up to meet Francis'. "Oh," he breathed, his shoulders tensing, his bottom lip catching between his teeth. His chest heaved as he took a deep breath; his eyes darkened as they fell back down to the crepe. Francis felt his veins burn beneath his skin. "Oh," said Matthew again, his cheeks still blushing red. "Maple syrup?"

Francis could feel his grin growing feral. But God, When Matthew breathed and sighed and blushed like that, how could he control himself? "Your favourite, wasn't it?"he asked teasingly.

"Yes." Matthew responded too quickly. Francis could see his feet twisting beneath the glass counter.

Francis silently congratulated himself. He himself just found the secret ingredient to immediately turn the tables in his favour. "Would you like..." he let the sentence trail into anticipative silence.

Matthew gasped, soft and expectant. "Yes! Let me try, please..."

The way Matthew said 'please' shot straight to certain parts of Francis' body, hot and fierce and craving. A week suddenly felt like a very, very long time. "Well, of course you may try." He made as though to pass the crepe to Matthew, who leant forward expectantly until Francis suddenly stopped and drew back. He just smiled pleasantly when Matthew furrowed his brows. "Tell me, Mathieu. What are you planning to do with yourself this weekend?"

Matthew looked cravingly at the crepe between Francis' fingers, but then met Francis' teasing gaze steadily. His eyes immediately narrowed. "Not much, I still have a few boxes I haven't unpacked."

Francis had to give Matthew credit. His breath was still a little fast, but once he knew Francis' game, he seemed determined not to lose it. "No, no, no my dear," Francis winked. "I have a better idea. What do you think of... oh, but what am I doing. Here. Try this first." Francis held the crepe before Matthew's lips. Matthew eyed it warily, even after his earlier display.

"Why?"

Francis forced himself not to laugh with delight. "Because then you will not be able to say no!"

Matthew raised his eyebrows. "Well. I'll have to test that."

Matthew's lips were so soft, so warm against Francis' fingers. Francis again clenched his other hand and bit his lip to hold back a moan. He felt the briefest touch of Matthew's tongue on his fingertip and it shot through him like an electric shock. Matthew's eyes fluttered shut, then opened slowly, then met Francis' with a dark, burning intensity.

The bell above the door jingled cheerfully and a loud voice resounded through the shop. "Where's my cake?"

Matthew shot backwards and quickly covered his mouth with his hand. Francis groaned inwardly. Why, why, why? Of all times... Introducing Matthew to his overly confident, unbearably loud, and stubbornly narcissistic German best friend was not part of Francis' plan of seduction.

"Gilbert!" cried Francis with sarcastic delight and genuine frustration. "Perfect timing as always."

Gilbert barrelled through the shop, grabbing a cupcake as he went. "Yeah, yeah, I'm here for my party cake and it had better be amazing."

"I thought the party was a surprise." Francis addressed the sentence to Roderich, who followed resignedly behind the practically bouncing German.

"You know what he's like." Roderich snatched the cupcake from Gilbert's hand and glared at him warningly

Francis knew exactly. The slightest hint someone was doing something for his birthday, and Gilbert would have pushed and pried and wheedled and whined until he found out every last detail. Gilbert grinned smugly. "You can't hide anything from me, suckers."

"Antonio told him," said Roderich simply.

Francis rolled his eyes. Of course Antonio told him. "Why am I not surprised. Regardless, Gilbert, you are early, _mon ami._ "

"What are you talking about, it's nearly six! You'd better have my sachertorte ready or I..." Gilbert broke off, staring at Matthew as though he had only just noticed him. His expression turned briefly blank before his lips spread in a delighted, wicked grin. "Let me guess. You chose the éclair."

Matthew turned red. Francis gritted his teeth. Roderich thumped Gilbert on the shoulder.

"Ow! what? That's spousal abuse right there, I could file a lawsuit..."

"I must apologise," said Roderich, smiling at Matthew, polite and dignified as ever. "Gilbert's social intelligence never progressed beyond a fourth grade level."

"Roderich, Gilbert!" said Francis loudly, interrupting before Gilbert come out with something inappropriately vulgar. "This is Matthew. A friend of mine. We were _busy_." Francis spat the word at Gilbert, who just wagged his eyebrows.

"I'm pleased to meet you," said Matthew softly. Francis' chest swelled a little and his spine tingled as he watched Matthew get hesitantly to his feet. This shyness that showed through occasionally was too enthralling. And to think only moments ago those softly smiling lips had been against Francis' fingers...

Roderich took Matthew's hand in a polite handshake. "Likewise." Roderich's manners were, as always, impeccable. Francis never was quite sure just what the refined Austrian saw in Gilbert, who was now leaning against the counter and eyeing Matthew up and down.

"So, Matt, tell me. How long did it take _mon ami_ Francis?"

Matthew looked puzzled. "How long?"

"Yeah, you know." Gilbert pointed to the infamous éclairs under the glass counter. "To get from one of those in your mouth to..."

Francis grasped Gilbert by the collar, hauled him forward, and hissed in his ear. "One more word and I swear I will tell Roderich about the lap dance in New York last month."

Gilbert narrowed his eyes. "Well played, sir." When Francis released him, Gilbert cleared his throat and straightened his collar. "Get me my damn cake."

Francis smirked triumphantly. "One moment, good sir." Francis walked out the back, hearing Roderich behind him.

"What was that, Gilbert?"

"Nothing! Is it hot in here? So, Matt, what do you do? Let me guess, investment banker. Hey are those maple syrup crepes?"

Francis retrieved his brilliant sachertorte from the kitchen, then arrived back at the counter to find Gilbert helping himself to the crepes and Roderich asking Matthew politely about his work. Francis was just about to rescue Matthew from a topic he knew the accountant hated, when Gilbert reached over and dragged him down the counter. "What the hell is going on here?" Gilbert hissed. "Have you even asked Mr Studly Accountant out yet?"

Francis did not want to explain this now, and not like this. He knew his friends would not understand, and would think this attraction was just the same as all the others. "Look, I've only known him a few days."

Gilbert looked at Francis blankly. "Are you joking? A few days? Last week you picked up in a men's room."

Francis' glanced worriedly over at Matthew. "Shh, keep it down!"

"We were supposed to see a movie!" Gilbert spoke far too loudly. "Then you duck into the bathroom for two minutes and the next thing I know you're taking some guy home!"

"Look that wasn't exactly how..."

"I had to watch it on my own! Do you know how dodgy that looks, a grown man watching 'Puss in Boots' on his own? I thought someone was gonna call the police!" 

" _Merde,_ Gilbert, will you just..."


End file.
